Lost Contact
by Kate-CorvusAlbus
Summary: Lieutenant Mannerheim's men of the Imperial Guard have the rather simple job of protecting supply lines from a few native Kroot, when his patrols begin to disappear in the mountains without a trace. Mannerheim decides to take his men and go after whoever slaughters his men.


Another short story, while I'm experiencing problems with continuing Victoia Primus. It should be noted that English is NOT my first language; I still hope you'll enjoy reading it.

* * *

„Sir, we've just lost contact to Patrol Delta." Scowling, Lieutenant Mannerheim looked up from his maps, which were spread across the table in his command post, a large olive colored tent, barely keeping the cool wind at bay. His Intelligence Officer Brodén, a young man in his twenties, looked at him worried. "This is the fourth this week alone." He noted.

The Lieutenant growled tracing paths on the paper. He and his men of the Imperial Guard were stationed at the mountains, which stretched from south to north over the entire continent, and the only thing they had to do was securing supply lines, however during the past three days his patrols disappeared without a trace or word. If they at least had contacted him, describe the nature of the threat, now however the mystery was unnerving his men. "Where have you heard from them last?"

Brodén stepped up and searched the map."Here." He pointed at a small path leading away from the highway deeper into the mountains. "Like the rest around the mountains Jura and Permian. Native Kroot maybe?"

Mannerheim shocked his head. "No, I don't think so, we would have heard something. Whatever is killing our men is fast and more coordinated than those beasts. I can't wait to explain that to my superiors." Mannerheim scratched his five o'clock shadow peevishly. He wanted to know what was happening out there, losing men due to his ignorance wore at his mind. "I'll go up there myself."

Brodén seemed dismayed. "Sir, can't we send another squad…" He began but the Lieutenant interrupted.

"So they end up like the other? No, I take as many men as we can spare, and see for myself. Beats doing nothing." Mannerheim had the trust of his men for standing in the frontlines with them; it was time for him to take action, strengthening their resolve once more. "How many squads are still out there?"

"Six, three of them Ratlings."

The Lieutenant nodded, putting on the missing pieces of his Flak Armor and a cloak against the harsh winds. "Good, have one of the Ratling squats met me at the pass and investigate the ambush site."

* * *

"Look what I got from those loyalist dogs." Caligula said, stroking almost gently over a heavy-bolter covered with blood. He wasn't a tall man, but broad, half his head marked by a burn.

The cultist had taken it from one of the Guardsmen, whose encounter with a chainsword had taken a bad turn. Lundström glared at him disdainfully; he didn't understand Caligula's preference of heavy weapons. Where was the fun in killing when you couldn't stare your victim directly in the eye, right before you gutted it, and see how their eyes widened in horror and anguish? Lundström himself bore several scars across his body and a blinded eye, proving his fondness of melee. The heretic turned back to their leaders, who were already leading them forward again; Alpha Legion, only a few Chaos Space Marines, a vanguard, but more than enough for the few loyalists, roaming these mountains.

"Have fun carrying the damn thing!" Lundström laughed and followed his masters. From the corner of his eye, he saw Caligula snapping at a young, fearful boy, ordering him to carry the ammunition he himself couldn't take.

* * *

Lieutenant Mannerheim had to admit the beauty of the landscape surrounding him. At this height, the slopes were green from various plant life, many of them protected by thorns as thick as one of his fingers. The small trees lining the roads were small and somewhat crippled from the harsh conditions, though recently they had grown in number and size. Spring came early this year.

"Lieutenant!" Mannerheim attention was caught by the crackling noise from his radio. He had sent the Ratlings to scout ahead. "We've found Patrol Delta. All dead." The Lieutenant grimaced irascibly, and clenched a fist; not that he had expected a different outcome, but it had hardly softened the blow.

"Any idea who or what killed them?"

"We've identified bolter and las-shots, as well as some wounds that appears to 've been made by a chainsword."

No kroot, Mannerheim thought, they only had spears and knifes. "Are there leads to where the bastards who did this went?"

"They seem to have retreated deeper in to the mountains."

"Good, secure the area, will be arriving in approximately fifteen minutes." Mannerheim wanted whoever was slaughtering his men out here, and unconsciously speeded up his pace. He had brought with him sixty men, all of them eager to avenge their fallen comrades and prove themselves on the battlefield. Most of Mannerheim's men were recruited from this world and had only little combat experience; at least they weren't Whiteshields, and the Lieutenant had brought some of his Command Squad with him, along with two squats of seasoned, off-world Guardsmen. As they marched on, their footsteps echoing through the valley, Mannerheim felt confident in his task, so focused on the road ahead, he failed to notice a movement to his left.

* * *

Ludvik and Håkon crawled close to the ground, towards a clearing up ahead, being Ratling able to use any kind of object as cover for their approach. The two had been send ahead to follow the enemies trail further, though apparently those bastards hadn't been going all that far away, since the Ratlings had reached the clearing in a bit under half an hour. They felt like, they had been more successful in their mission than originally planned.

"Cultists." Ludvik whispered disgusted, regarding the torn uniforms adored with spikes and heretical symbols.

"How many do you think there are?"

The Ratling counted, his mouth forming numbers without making a sound. " 'bout fifty, I'd guess." He later replied. "What?"

Håkon had this look of utter shock and fear on his face, his hands clenching the ground in anxiety. His breathing had become rash, pupils dilated and drops of sweet ran through the dust covering his face, leaving white lines behind. Unsettled, Ludvik searched the camp ahead, for whatever his friend had spotted. His heart almost jumped out his throat. A giant of a man strode through the cultist, his armor a defiled version of those worn by the Astartes, shimmering in bluish-green colors and silver ornaments. It was impossible to see this monster, without being overwhelmed by the feeling of revulsion and dread, the longer he looked the worse the feelings became, and yet Ludvik couldn't remove his eyes from the awe striking sight. He was only distracted as he heard whimpering beside him; Håkon cowered at the ground, his hands grasping his head, arms covering his face protectively, hyperventilating. Ludvik saw blood emerging from beneath his friend's fingernails, and was suddenly smacked by the realization that he needed to get them out of there. He grabbed his friend, but he wouldn't move, actually defying any action that could have saved his life, so it wasn't long until Ludvik abandoned the idea and left Håkon behind. Still, Ludvik couldn't shake the anxiety, which had an unshakable grip on his mind, and somewhere along the way downhill, stumbled and rammed face first into the ground. He spit blood, and attempted to get back on his feet, his body abruptly vellicateing as a sharp object driving through his back.

* * *

Lundström heard rustling to his right, somewhere between the crippled little trees. Probably just some critters, but not too long after the ambush, he felt alerted and bloodthirsty.

"What now?" Caligula asked annoyed as the other heretic moved towards the tree line.

"Heard something." He growled back, a bloody ax held tightly in his hand. Lundström heard Caligula getting up to follow him, and together they approached the trees.

"Here is nothing." There was grave disappointment in Caligula's voice, as suddenly Lunström ran pass him. When he turned around again, he held a Ratling by the throat. "Barely worth the effort."

"Maybe we should let him ran back." Lundström suggested. "We hadn't had a real fight yet." The Ratling whimpered pathetically.

Caligula shook his head. "That worm isn't running anywhere, or he'd be long gone by now." There was a rustling further downhill. "His friends?"

"Then check." Lundström barked, threw the Ratling to the ground and smashed his ax into his body a few times, covering himself with the blood and pieces of tissue.

His heavy weapon at the ready, Caligula walked down the path until he found another Ratling lying on the ground, covered in blood. There was a large wound at his back; something had been driven right through him, almost torn him apart. Someone else got him first. Caligula returned to the other heretic. "Another dead Ratling!" He growled.

"What? That's all?"

"Yeah, if we're lucky one of them contacted command…" He didn't get any further, as something jumped on his back, ramming him to the ground and pressing all the air out of his lungs. Last thing he heard was a long shriek and Lundströms furious screaming, followed by las fire.

* * *

By this time Mannerheim had reached the Ratling at the ambush-side, the sun was already setting and each breath was visible as a small cloud, forming over their heads. The remaining eight Ratlings seemed anxious, their eyes moving along the tree lines, hand clenching their weapons.

"Sergeant, report!" Mannerheim called for the Ratlings commanding officer. "Where did the enemy retreat to?"

A tiny man with grizzled brown hair and weathered face answered him. "East into the mountains." He pointed into a forest of the small trees. "I've sent two men to investigate further, but I haven't received a report from them yet."

"How long are they gone?"

"About twenty minutes."

Mannerheim licked over his lips; they were gone too long. "We'll follow them right away and end this now. Lasrifles and chainblades are weapons of men, and we know well how to kill them." The Lieutenant had fought heretics in a previous campaign, along with his trusted Command-Squat. "We're moving out!"

The march through the forest was quiet and seemed to drag on, though the Guardsmen's moral had lifted, now knowing that their enemy was no ominous power, roaming the mountains. Only recently, old folk tales about ghosts and other fairytale creatures had been spread across the camp, but after tonight this superstition would be silenced permanently. Just thinking that, Mannerheim noticed how quiet it was; no critters, rushing among the trees, nor the voices of birds in the air. Now that he had perceived it, it became rather unnerving, and he concentrated stronger on the sound of footsteps behind and beside him. He was just getting more comfortable as the sound of las and even bolter fire pierced his ears, followed by screams and barked commands. For only a second Mannerheim thought they were under attack, however the assault counted for someone, or something, else.

The Guardsmen took cover, the following advance much slower and more careful. Then Mannerheim saw them; heretics, cultists in shabby armor, covered in unholy symbols that were actually painful to look at, so the Lieutenant quickly rubbed his itching eyes. Still, he couldn't make out what they were fighting. There was another sight that terrified him more than any rotten symbol could have; armored giants advanced through the ranks of heretics, oh how he had prayed never to set eyes upon them again: Chaos Space Marines. Their armor shimmered blue and green, in their hands wielding bolters, chainaxes, from somewhere he could hear the sound of a heavy bolters, and saw brightly glowing plasma fire. How could he stand against such a foe with only the few men he had brought?

His doubts were eradicated when one of the Chaos Marines was hit in the chest and fell dead to the ground, a whole in his chest, still steaming from the unknown projectile. Seeing those monsters exterminated was truly a blessed sight, and only in the back of his head, the nagging thought occurred to Mannerheim that whatever killed the heretics was unlikely an ally. As long as the heretics were his primal concern, he decided flank their lines. The distracted cultist were shot down by the dozens in the first five seconds, before at least some adjusted and went for cover, followed by a vicious yet uncoordinated reply. Mannerheim could see two of his men getting hit, their armor being effortlessly pierced. A Chaos Marine barked another order, and more cultists were diverted to fight the Guardsmen, though Mannerheim could see to his relief how the remaining Marines went for the unknown enemy. There were a few cultists who even tried to attack the Guardmen with rusty knives and axes, but were shot down before they arrived, the dead bodies rolling downhill.

Up to this point the Lieutenant hadn't seen the third party in this battle, only heard animalistic shrieks and swift shadows without finding himself able to make out any actual contours. His first association was the feral Kroot of this world, but he'd never seen those xenos enforcing such a devastating attack. One of his Sergeants contacted him.

"Sir, enemy contact on our right flank!"

"Divert your men accordingly! Can you identify them?"

"Negative, sir! Their xenos in nature but don't seem native!" The transmission stopped and Mannerheim could hear yelled commands and las fire. "Taking heavy loses! They look like…Arrgh!..."

The radio went dead, and Mannerheim looked to his right. It was impossible to make out what had happened down there, through the battle around him and the densely wooded terrain. Most heretics were dead at this point. Only a handful of men were holding their position up ahead. The Chaos Space Marines had disappeared from view but one could still hear them fighting. With a final advance Mannerheim could destroy the threat, and he ordered two of his squats to take down the nest, while the rest should move uphill, where they wouldn't make such easy prey for the coming xenos attack. He also contacted the camp.

"Brodén, this is Mannerheim. We've engaged heretics and Chaos Space Marines at Mount Jura; they have been almost completely neutralized, and are most likely responsible for our lost squats. However we have encountered xenos; they have already killed one of my squats and several Chaos Marines."

"No Kroot?"

"Negative. I haven't seen them myself, but they are numerous and fast. Send Valkyries for extraction; we won't be able to hold them off on our own!"

"Understood, Valkyries are on their way."

Mannerheim and his men reached the clearing and a formed semicircle, weapons ready, eyes never leaving the line of trees. At top speed the Valkyries would need approximately ten minutes, Mannerheim was hoping the Chaos Space Marines would last long enough, delaying the inevitable attack, to spare his Guardsmen. Savage sounds emerged from the forest; the bolter fire had never seized but became scarce as more were slaughtered.

Suddenly it was silent; no fire, voices or animalistic shrieks, not even the rustling of movement. Mannerheim exchanged looks with the man standing next to him, the fear in the man's eyes unmistakable. Some of the men were whispering to one another, they were getting restless, shuffling their feet, readjusting their hold on the rifles. Then they came.

They weren't tall, more like large dogs, partially covert with black-purple scales, and having six skinny white limbs, four of them ending in scything talons. Mannerheim had never seen creatures like them, and they swarmed out of the forest, running faster than a human ever could. His men had began to fire the second the enemy had appeared, though while it was impossible to miss, their ranks didn't seem to thin out. Mannerheim knew they couldn't run, but several of his men didn't make that realization dropped their weapons and ran away.

"Hold the line!" The Lieutenant shouted, raising his own sword. "The Emperor will not see us die running, but taking his enemy with us!"

The first of the creatures leaped forward, their skinny legs more powerful than they appeared, slicing men into pieces, their sharp and pointy teeth tearing at human flesh. One jumped over the Guardsmen and right on Mannerheim's chest, slamming him into the ground several meters behind his men, screaming into his face and spitting its saliva, which burned into his skin. Mannerheim fired his Hellpistol, bursting skeletal looking the ribcage and slammed the limp body off of him. Blood ran from two small wounds at his shoulder, where the impact of two sharp talons had hit him, and his own ribcage pained him greatly. As he got back on his feet, he saw most of his men getting buried beneath the living flood of alien creatures, torn apart by claws and teeth.

"Here is Valkyrie six, prepare for extraction in twenty seconds." Came the static voice through his radio. Mannerheim fired his weapon, but gave no reply to the pilot. Twenty seconds was too late, several minutes too late. More xenos jumped at him, talon and teeth dripping in Guardsmen blood, and over their screams he heard the blessed jet engine of Imperial Valkyries, which had come to carry them home.


End file.
